Echizen has grown again. Not much; it has only been three weeks, after all, but enough that his Seigaku jacket is tight across broader shoulders. It is slow, but he is gaining on Tezuka.
Tezuka stands at the fence with his arms folded, watching as Echizen is mobbed by the other Regulars, who all seem to want to congratulate him at once. Echizen ducks and hunches, trying to scowl off the praise; he's tall enough now that Tezuka can see the blush he attempts to hide beneath his cap brim.
"Enough." It is time to intervene, before this gets completely out of hand. "Regulars, on the courts."
They trail off reluctantly, grumbling. Tezuka eyes them imperviously, then turns his eyes to Echizen. Nationals begin next week; there is no time for carelessness. Nevertheless...
"Congratulations on retaining your title," Tezuka says as formally as though they had not spent hours on the phone after the final. Echizen grins up at him, understanding perfectly. They are closer than they had been even three short weeks ago.
"Thanks, buchou." Echizen glances around, eyes bright, then pounces, latching onto Tezuka for a lightning-fast hug that is over as soon as it has begun. Tezuka is sure he can feel eyes on him, but when he looks around even Fuji and Inui are practicing diligently. Echizen is already disappearing towards the court.
Tezuka takes a deep breath and goes to practice with the warm impression of Ryoma's body still lingering against him, fitting as perfectly as ever despite the extra centimetres.
Ryoma has a dislocated moment of wondering when Tezuka-buchou had got shorter before he belatedly realises that of course he has grown over the past two years. It just doesn't always seem like it, now that even Horio has inches on him.
"Echizen. Welcome back." Tezuka-buchou is wearing that expression that's almost, almost smiling. Ryoma looks up at him, absorbing this new difference. He can stand next to buchou without cricking his neck, now. The thought is curiously warming.
"Buchou." Ryoma grins; he has been anticipating another match with Tezuka since the Under-Eighteen Singles last autumn. He tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "We're going to Nationals again, right?"
"Of course." Tezuka looks down at him evenly, but there is a twitch of a smile in the corner of his mouth. Ryoma is hit with the sudden realisation that he would only have to stretch up a little to kiss it.
He can feel his eyes going wide. Tezuka-buchou looks at him curiously, and Ryoma ducks his head, face heating stupidly. Then he's freezing up, because Tezuka-buchou is reaching for his shoulder.
"Brace yourself," Tezuka warns quietly, and Ryoma doesn't know what's going on in his head but it doesn't matter because Kikumaru-senpai has appeared out of nowhere and is trying to flatten him.
"Ochibi!!"
Ryoma suffers rigidly under the onslaught of overexcited senpai, still staring up at the vague exasperation on Tezuka's face. Probably it's only his imagination that there's a little disappointment there, too.
Echizen always scowls when Kikumaru calls him "ochibi." Once, during a victory celebration at Kawamura Sushi, Tezuka hears him complain that he's five foot six now, senpai, not a little kid. Kikumaru just laughs and ruffles his hair until Echizen is forced to duck away and escape to the seat next to Tezuka. Kikumaru starts to follow him, but then catches Tezuka's eye and detours to pester Oishi instead.
It has been years since Tezuka has thought of Echizen as short. Even during that first year in middle school, Echizen's diminutive height had faded to insignificance against the magnificent colours of his talent, his determination, his potential.
Six inches is not much of a gap, all things considered. Tezuka has grown used to looking down into Echizen's upturned face at practice, in the locker room, across the net. Echizen must abandon the protective shadow of his cap in order to meet Tezuka's eyes, and something in Tezuka has always been quietly satisfied by this.
Echizen is the perfect height to fit snugly into Tezuka's arms, face pressed into the crook of his neck as he breathes shivers across Tezuka's skin. He is compact and warm and utterly smug as he drapes himself across Tezuka's chest, murmuring "buchou" in a soft, possessive voice. Here, as on the courts, they are equal.
Echizen occasionally complains that at seventeen he is unlikely to grow any more. Tezuka smiles into his teacup and doesn't say a word.